


Society of the Two-Way Mirror

by hauntedshoes



Category: Changeling: The Lost, The Centricide (Webseries), World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Changelings, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Kinda?, Please bare with me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Thriller, being a personified political ideology is not a good experience, deconstruction fic?, everyone was sent to horror fairy land and needs to recover, i wont be using game mechanics but more of the setting, no beta we die like centrists, radical centrist is an eldritch fae god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedshoes/pseuds/hauntedshoes
Summary: After escaping the grip of their True Fae Keeper, 'Radical Centrist' a group of changelings which strangely seem to reflect modern political ideas escape to their former home, the town of Overton to find everything that had before robbed of them.Aided by others who had also been taken from Overton to Arcadia, they find themselves navigating the intrigue of a society which sat seemingly both within the town and outside it at once. All while each of them rebuild their lives and relearn who they are after being lost for so long. The eldritch grasp of 'Radical Centrist' never fading from their minds.
Kudos: 11





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and make this as canon-blind as possible at the best of my ability.  
> To help with this, I've attached a dictionary of terms at the bottom of each chapter.  
> I'm mostly going to exclude game mechanics and go more of the setting than the fact the game is an RPG even if I bend 'canon' a little to do so.  
> Happy Reading!

Arcadia: a place which exists a mere hint away from even the most bustling of cityscapes. Behind boarded-up doors in the disused car park. The empty corridors in the airport lobby at 2am. Graveyards which have had no visitors in years, the church replaced with the town hall. All of these places’ barriers leading to the Hedge, entry to Arcadia. A place between places, cold, liminal space. Within nowhere exists infinity. 

Behind these lonely places leads to endless potential. Masters of the ‘Wyrd’ the magic of narrative, storytelling, promises which are given life. Promises of equivalent exchange which offers blood for blood. The beings of Arcadia created from these painful promises gaining immense power. The ability to form what could only seem to be their own pocket universes away from the world. Universes of their own stories, horrifying and beautiful stories as mesmerising as they are painful. 

Its inhabitants aren’t alive in the way that you’d expect. They are entities constructed from what one might see as conscious metaphors, concepts, ideas - known only by their titles. If you were to be dragged into Arcadia, you would likely be mistaken for them as living beings, a grave error. Due to the power they wield, they aren’t truly alive, nor are they truly abstract. These metaphors granted physical bearing, colloquially, almost insolently are called the ‘True Fae’ by their victims. They embody the ‘Wyrd’ paradoxical deals written to aid the dealmaker, the mythical con man who always found unwitting human targets, the right human targets. 

Narrative entities they were, the True Fae. They had a desire to find actors, humans to fulfil the roles planned out in their elaborate plays. Their built pseudo societies. Entire cities, countries with systems built to exclusively so that the True Fae could see their personal desires unfold or an interpretation of what they wished to understand. 

These taken humans become entirely twisted, physically and mentally by their True Fae ‘Keeper’ and become known as ‘Changelings’. There are indeed no boundaries as to what a human can become, the role they are forced to put on for the True Fae. They could be changed into a simple animal or willing servant but much more abstract forms of changeling. Elementals created from the flame inside the human heart, thunderstorms formed from the tense nerves running through every one of us. The True Fae, being what they are, may never become to understand humanity, but when they do or try, they can become even more terrifying.

The town of Overton had been plagued by one specific Keeper for what seemed like forever. The Freehold of External Overton as a group had been attempting to monitor this Keeper who had taken each and every one of them into Arcadia at some point and able to return to Earth and their hometown by what seemed like luck alone. A single True Fae having precedent over an entire town was not especially rare, but that isn’t what put the Freehold on edge. Even with some of the changelings having only fuzzy memories, they could tell that the pocket universe living in-between the cracks of the town was learning what it shouldn’t. It was becoming increasingly apparent to those on the ‘iron side’ of the Hedge that their old Keeper who went by the title ‘Radical Centrist’ was making an attempt to learn the political system of humans. 

Political Ideologies were still concepts, and thus, one could make a deal with such a thing using Wyrd, but the majority of True Fae sat so outside the bounds of human society and almost exclusively within themselves. Any attempt to learn how human societies operate should inevitably fail, shouldn’t it? Yet, day by day ‘Radical Centrist’ was growing seemingly more aware. The danger this posed or potential it would give the said True Fae was still unknown. Whatever was going on in Arcadia surely wasn’t something they wanted to know, was it? The threat of being taken back into their Keeper’s grasp forever a looming threat. The idea that they could once again be the ‘playthings’ of a near-incomprehensible entity who was growing closer and closer to understanding them: only so they could hurt them even more.

-

“Four more disappearances? Four of them?!” Posadist threw the newspaper onto the desk with enough force as for it to shake. 

“Can please not look at me as if it was my fault,” the former King of Spring, Minarchist muttered as he was made to look into the eyes of the frustrated Elemental. 

Of all the members of the Overton Freehold, it was speculated that Posadist had the highest connection to the Wyrd. That being, the impression left by his mien, the changeling’s true face was terrifyingly strong. Strong in a way, it could only come from Wyrd. The stunning, fiery energy of skin, a bit like that of a nuclear reactor was enough to shock any changeling who encountered him. The warmth of his body temperature was enough to bring any room he entered up several degrees. In summer this would make those around him, even other Summer Court changeling swelter in the heat.

Following Minarchist’s interjection, the King of Summer, Posadist did his usual taunting chuckle before standing up and pacing around the room. 

“Four kidnappings out of nowhere, on the same night just some days ago, both of us know what that means, don’t we?” 

Minarchist looked down, partly to avoid looking at the bright light Posadist emitted and partly out of shame. Even the large, shattered window breathing in cool air behind him and the training ‘garden’ ahead of him didn’t quell the fiery energy Posadist radiated. 

The External Overton Freehold was called just that because it sat outside the town’s limits. Physically, but of course, the changeling members felt like outsiders too. According to its postal code, it still belonged to the town, but it wasn’t like the Freehold was going to receive many parcels though, being an abandoned hotel on the top of a hill. Minarchist had at least assumed that the changelings of the town were the only people who knew it was still technically operating, but you could never be too careful. The Overton freehold itself existed exclusively to protect and aid the changelings of the city, and what better protection was there than hiding? The Winter and Autumn court seemed to think so anyway, Minarchist was unsure if he agreed with them. 

The changelings arguably felt a lot safer if they didn’t have to be close to the bustle of the town, close to their old homes with uncertain connections to the Hedge surrounding them. They wouldn’t have to think about their fetches here either. 

Despite the intensely transient nature of the hotel itself also creating a well for potential Hedge openings with everyone in the same place as this it became much easier to utilise in case, they ever needed to enter it. It also helped them stay under the radar, there were still basic aspects of the human world and what had happened in their absence from it could still overwhelm an ill-adjusted changeling. 

The King of the Summer Court, Posadist had moved his so-called throne room. A pitiful place, it was much more like an office to Minarchist. It had been picked specifically due to its proximity to an outdoor courtyard. Minarchist had guessed they had some kind of mini shrubbery maze created for the guests here when the hotel actually functioned. Minarchist could imagine the Summer courtiers annihilating whatever used to here with glee at some point in time. The ‘garden’ covered with brown grass had provided a good place for the Summer court to train. Posadist had naturally chosen the closet room to the training grounds. He would watch his courtiers spar with one another. He would sit there and guzzle his coffee, no matter how fresh it would be, it would always be colder than him. The little former office probably used as a place for distributing tickets for the maze game when it existed. 

A large window of multiple colours: red and blue and the top, green and yellow at the bottom – smashed to bits but unrepaired, an old symbol of the hotel was in the back of the room. Through it, the back of the physical Freehold, the edge of the hill the hotel sat on, could be seen. As he turned behind him, the longer that Minarchist looked at it, the more he had the vision that he was falling. 

With his staring, Minarchist had zoned out, Posadist was still circling him and giggling. The smell of radiation was growing stronger as seemed Posadist’s power over the room. Minarchist was surprised that the Summer King hadn’t hit him yet to provoke a response. Minarchist had to quickly think of a reply, “Uh, well how do we know that they weren’t taken by humans, you know? Like it was a regular… Earthy…event?”

Posadist stopped circling and spoke suddenly, “Pah!” 

The warm air swirling around Minarchist stopped, and he coughed. Minarchist peered behind him as the Summer King opened his mouth again, “You really believe the four kidnappings, in a row, in the town of Overton could be anything but The Gentry flexing on us again, really?”

“Bu-But you know what if it w-”

“What if it was what?!” 

“Oh shut, you and the rest of your Spring Courtiers try and wriggle your way out of anything, especially if it ruins your high rise parties, but you won’t be getting out of this one,” Posadist tutted, Minarchist was aware how much those burning eyes were watching him.

Minarchist was obviously shaken but gritted his teeth and turned around to face Posadist, the smug jerk, “So what? The Hedge might have weakened again? What do you expect me to do about it?”

“Oh, Minarchist, that’s just the thing…” Posadist twisted his head to the side, “Nothing of course?” 

Minarchist folded his arms, “Wait, nothing? You demanded I come here, alone, for nothing?!”

Thoughts circled through Minarchist’s head. _Was Posadist about to attack him here and now?_ _How would he defend himself? If he did try something, he could tie him in vines and leave him here and run away._ Minarchist didn’t have the energy, and starting an unnecessary conflict would further damage the Spring Court as a whole.Even then, he wasn’t sure if he had that much hate in his heart against Posadist, not enough to restrain him against his will. 

Most of the Spring Court’s abilities wasn’t well suited to combat like that of the Summer court. Especially considering the events of the year, collecting glamour had been more than difficult for them. Minarchist was tired. He barely had any glamour left, no power, it wasn’t worth it. 

“Yes, I only brought you here so I could blame you for it, personally, so thank you, thank you for your carelessness, it’ll be good for all of us… in the end.”

Minarchist could tell by the tone of his voice that Posadist wasn’t being sarcastic. 

“Good for all of us, you’re suggesting that…”

 _It was right for ‘Radical Centrist’ to take those humans, what for more soldiers? Something else?_ Minarchist didn’t even want to think of that. Sometimes even saying the name of his former Keeper in his mind – that mad eldritch demi-god. He shut his eyes and rubbed them in a way to get the image out of his head. 

“Suggesting, Minarchist? I’m not suggesting anything. If anything, I’m suggesting that you wait like everyone else. You are dismissed!”

Posadist approached him, placing his burning hand on Minarchist’s shoulder. Minarchist was scared that his flames would burn through his shirt sleeve. If it did, it would reveal the dozens of words printed on his skin which had remained there even after his durance. Exposing his seeming, which he tried to hide even to himself. 

“D-d-dismissed?”

“Yes, oh, and one last thing, Spring courtier,” Posadist lifted his fiery hand, placing it gently on Minarchist’s cheek before slapping him around the face.

Minarchist growled, and Posadist laughed at him again, “There, now you are dismissed, good luck next year Spring Court.”

Posadist wandered across the courtyard laughing, Minarchist felt the side of his cheek. It hurt less than he expected it to, thankfully. 

As Posadist started to walk away from him, he noticed how the temperature dropped in an instant. The reasonably cool air of the night-time drifted through the room, carrying the smell of the scorched grass with it. As more of the cold winds drifted into the isolated office, the more Minarchist felt his cheek starting to burn.

Minarchist immediately ran toward the exit of the former hotel. He had to get to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter Dictionary:  
> Arcadia: Domain of the True Fae, where humans are made into changelings.  
> Autumn Court (the): One of the four seasonal courts: bound to fear and bargaining.  
> Changeling: A human who has been changed by Arcadia and gains some of its power as a result.  
> Durnace: The ordeal humans went through in Arcadia to become changelings.  
> Freehold: A local society of changelings overseen by a seasonal ruler which offers support to other changelings.  
> Glamour: Energy that feeds changeling magic (and by extent anybody with Arcadian magic).  
> Gentry (the): A euphemism for True Fae.  
> Keeper: The True Fae that 'kept' the changeling in Arcadia.  
> Seeming: The physical appearance of a changeling that reflects their experiences in Arcadia.  
> Spring Court (the): One of the four seasonal courts: bound to desire and denial.  
> Summer Court (the): One of the four seasonal courts: bound to combat and anger.  
> Winter Court (the): One of the four seasonal courts: bound to sorrow and intrigue.  
> Wyrd: The power of all Arcadian creatures: equivalent exchange.
> 
> 19/06/2020: Made some minor edits to make some of the text understandable.  
> 


	2. Esoteric Prologue: An Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ancom/the green changeling uses qui/quem pronouns.

_They created a stage, the most secluded part of the city. They had others to watch the trouble for him: he just had to stand and announce his message. Not there was any choice in the message he held. There wasn’t a place for agreeing and disagreeing, there was only dutiful acceptance and the fake concept of a voice._

_-_

_There was no point in going on, yet they kept going. Qui kept going because qui thought someone believed in quem. That someone mattered. That someone qui hated would soon be brought to their knees and begging. Was it worth being stopped so quickly? Were those unreal people really worth dying for? And qui kept dying. Qui kept dying. Death was the one truth of this world it seemed – but not even death could stop quem._

-

_There couldn’t be a society here without violence. Fear. Both of which needed enforces. You could get by with only one if you could make him that enforcer. Obedience was primary, obedience was everything, obedience was mutual and always entrenched in aggression._

-

_Some places don’t need rulers, leaders in order to function. Sometimes the beating heart of belief and imagination. People aren’t driven exclusively by the physical. They are also driven by intangible thoughts, elements, that exist beyond human view. These things, invisible to normal mortal eyes can be made real in Arcadia, embodied, crafted from the mind of an induvial and yet nothing else._

-

The four escapees had assumed they had never met before. The power of their Keeper had made it that way. However, that power was now weakening. Four brave changelings: one blue, one green, one red and one yellow, all with different Seemings had escaped the same true Fae Keeper, Radical Centrist. 

They had lost their names, lost their lives as they were taken by the True Fae. They were reshaped for their purposes as their Keeper saw fit. Though they each had different Seemings but followed the same Kith: Ideologies. Created to embody beliefs in their truest forms with no way to go against even the subtleties of these frameworks. Or, at least, the frameworks that Radical Centrist understood. 

Frameworks of authority, of freedom. Frameworks of competition, of collectivism. 

They had no idea how far exactly they had gotten or how long it had taken them to get wherever they were. All that they knew was that they were getting away from Radical Centrist. Yet, there was hope in their hearts that they could return home. That they could return to the mortal world and once again live as they had done. 

Getting away though the four of them were, this awareness that they had not been allowed to receive in what could have been forever. Well, for them it was forever, it could have been weeks, a few months, a few days – time in Arcadia flowed at the will of the True Fae, not to the laws of physics. For a time, this group of mortals didn’t have to obey the laws of physics either. 

The laws of physics were coming back to these survivors now: these were seemingly, welcome changes. Even the concept itself of ‘running away’ couldn’t have existed if there wasn’t some small part of the changeling that remained human. That concept, the idea they could ‘get away by running’ would have vanished from their heads too, but their Keeper, ‘Radical Centrist’ couldn’t have destroyed everything inside of them, no matter how they had tried to bend them.

The four runaways may have entered Arcadia completely human, probably normal and probably entirely insignificant. Still, none of them could be human mortals again, no matter how much they wanted to be. Obey the laws of physics like an earth-bound mortal they may, but they were more than human, they were changelings now, and they weren’t even aware of it yet. 

One of them didn’t remember what running even felt like, stuck on a tiny stage for the past god knows how long, one of them hadn’t known what it felt like to run without dying, one of the others hadn’t a body until they started to get away – needless to say, these sensations were foreign to them. The fourth had gone through so many other bodies that they barely recognised their own, though luckily, they would eventually get it back – so long as they could keep running.

Eventually, their running led them into a place called ‘The Hedge’ the place which lay in-between Arcadia and Earth, the mortal world, home. Full of thorny bushes which grasped and pulled. Although Arcadia was painted many colours: some of those colours beyond that of the spectrum itself, the Hedge, the in-between world was entirely dominated by green. Viridian. Spring. Seafoam. Jade. The Hedge still contained many of the mystical aspects of the land of the Fae, but its scope was far more narrow. 

The image it catered appeared to be that of an overgrown forest. Trees that reached beyond the hight of the sky continuing into infinity as their leaves covered the upper atmosphere. The grass was longer than any grass they had ever seen. Most of the cities the four of them had dwelled in being made of metal, glass and harshness. They flowed in a way that made them seem alive, they could have been alive, they could have been suffering as well? In the near distance, one of the four noticed what qui thought to be a pond or perhaps a fountain?

The green changeling wandered over to it, causing another, one more cautious members of the team, to try and prevent quem from falling in. The other was simply hesitant, and another stunned at the idea of having limbs again, and that he could move them, he couldn’t remember the sensation, but he felt as if it was something to treasure. 

“No, that’s acid!” one of the changeling’s of a red colour pulled another, who was softly green and covered in scars, away from the beautiful pouring fountain – qui had seen the clear and still liquid and was, starting, once again, to be tricked. The red coloured changeling knew that nothing could be what it seemed, not ever again.

Beyond the acid fountains and trails of endless treeline was what looked like a topiary archway. The blue changeling looked upon what first appeared as an open pathway but was really a locked door. He tapped it and felt what wood on what looked like a glass surface was. He traced his hand around the door to find a keyhole, but where would they key even be? He wouldn’t be the kind to break down a door in an untimely manner. Behind him he heard the cries of, “Well what’s the problem with drinking acid?” it was disturbing enough to make him shudder.

Naturally, as a Fairest (even if he hadn’t learnt that yet) surely he should be trying to take charge by moving the team forward, it’s what helped in escape Arcadia after all. He couldn’t quite see the way to get through the invisible door. His arrogant nature would never quite leave him. He wondered if the door itself was placed here by Radical Centrist – brutal mastermind – and there was really no escape for them at all. 

The red changeling, an Ogre, heaved his friend, whom he had just met out of the fountain. The green changeling was dragged out and placed on the nearest swatch of living grass. The green changeling screamed, coughed and sat up. The red changeling started to worry, it would likely take them a whilst before they all had a chance to get out of here, the green changeling had already looked damaged by, something? _Was it a part of qui’s seeming? Something else?_

Meanwhile, the yellow changeling had managed to reconnect with the idea of himself being tangible. He shook his head and breathed in the very real, but still unusual air which surrounded him. Floral scented, despite the lack of a clear presence of flowers.

The blue changeling had resorted to kicking the door out of frustration. If the door were speaking to him, he would threaten it within an inch of its life. Doors spoke in Arcadia, sometimes, in the domain of ‘Radical Centrist’ at least they did. He would never understand the True Fae’s humour.

The yellow changeling, eyeing the obvious frustration that the blue changeling was going through sighed in annoyance at his consistent banging (who knew invisible doors could make noise?). There was indeed a kind of keyhole and a sliding handle. It appeared that this strange glass-like door could be opened from the inside, rather than the outside. 

The yellow changeling had an idea, if he could use some of his intangible, mostly air-like form, then he could get behind the door through the keyhole and try and unlock it - a sad state of events for the changeling who didn’t want to extend himself for the others too much. If he was going to get out on his own instead, then he would have much preferred to just have left on his accord. The others didn’t mean much to him. Yet, the obligation to help started to weigh on him. 

He could become ethereal enough again, temporarily, to unlock the door from the other side. He tapped the blue changeling with his fancy made-up face on the shoulder. He scowled at the yellow changeling and tried to push him back. Due to the semi-intangible nature of the yellow Elemental, he felt nothing of it. 

The Yellow Changeling was able to take a look a closer look at the restraints on the door. He poked his tiny finger between the keyhole, with focus he was able to re-transmute part of his form into almost nothingness, some of the thinnest wind. With that, he was able to reach and feel around for some kind of way to free the door.

With the mere hint of a touch, the yellow changeling was able to unlock the door by sensing through the little ability of touch that remained to him. The yellow changeling wondered if he had the ability to feel anything whilst he was under the complete control of his Keeper, then he thought it was best not to think of anything like that.

The yellow changeling drew away and regained his human-looking hand again. He looked at it, his body, which he was ever so glad to receive, still felt foreign to him almost as if he wasn’t supposed to have it. Like he wasn’t allowed.

The door creaked open. The blue changeling jumped back in surprise. The red changeling helped his friend off the ground whilst still giving him a condescending glare. The green changeling laughed nervously whilst qui put the green hoodie qui was wearing over cuius* head. The Wizened was short but not inhumanly so cuius body, despite being a soft green was covered head to toe in unusual scars. Scars which looked as if they could have killed quem at some point and maybe they had done. Not even death was permeant in Arcadia. 

Qui was a drastic contrast to the large red-coloured changeling ogre who was next to quem. Bulky, intimidating but not in a grotesque way, in fact, he looked almost graceful - his eyes a bright glowing red, sort of like an infrared camera to give an unusual comparison.

The blue changeling, face as fake-looking as ever, aggressively gestured the other changelings that they needed to hurry up. The other three were uncomfortable with the sense of demanding the blue changeling seemed to carry but fled quickly. Getting away quickly was one thing that they could silently agree on.

The restrained garden world led to a darker part of the woods. The green hues had not faded but had become of a richer, more fearsome tone. The trees which coated the sky had turned to black. They were thinner, rising up from the ground like dainty shadows. The grass was just as long, but it no longer looked alive like last time. It wasn’t that it seemed more like normal grass, but rather that it seemed dead. Standing on ends, a mix of emerald and bronze. The life in this part of the Hedge was being left slowly to decay. 

“Is this the part they forgot about?” the green changeling asked, looking at the rest of the party.

“If we made it here, then perhaps they’ll forget about us too!” the yellow changeling smiled, his wispy form shifting under the emotion that he expressed. 

Despite the shadowy nature of the area, their path was clearly laid out for them. It appeared to be a straight walk into darkness. Although, they had all been tricked before. That kind of trickery had been deeply entrenched in all of their lives – as was the nature of the changeling durance. Despite the fact, they had all just met as themselves, but a few minutes ago, the Hedge was really no place for idle conversations or even introductions. Radical Centrist was coming. Radical Centrist was still coming. 

They walked forward, one at a time. The blue changeling had pushed his way into getting to the front as to try to show off his strength. The red changeling was clearly frustrated at this development, the green changeling felt as if qui were holding off an attack.

There were no hidden fake doors this time, and although the darkness leered all around them, it was indeed a simple path forward. As they moved the undead grass blades begun to shrink. Soon they each felt was seemed like metal and concrete beneath their feet. The air started to grow heavy as well, it was losing its smell of the refreshing woodland scent it carried. 

The more the forest started to wean, the more the changelings each sensed that something wasn’t right. There was a feeling of movement, a scuttering between the layers and layers of darkening trees. It was as if there was someone else there, watching them… 

_Could they be another changeling?_

_Could they be a friend?_

The group halted. Not something that they should have done if they had not wanted to be hunted. 

Something had been sent out, something had followed them. It was moving through the outer reaches of the dark forest Hedge. One of them thought that they had heard scratching against wood, the kind of scratching that might have been done by a knife or another sharp object. 

The blue changeling jumped in shock. The red changeling steadied himself on the ground, pushing the boots they were wearing into the strange muddy-concrete hybrid beneath him. 

The yellow changeling started to grow curious, he hesitantly wandered off the path. 

“You’re going? Wait, what why, are you going? Do you have a death wish?” The blue changeling called out.

“Do you have trouble with me investigating?” The yellow changeling tried to force a laugh. 

The scratching against the trees continued to the point sounded like screeching. Human screeching: coming from a weapon.

The yellow changeling wanted someone else he could trust. Even after all the trouble, he went through to escape Arcadia his Keeper would probably suggest that he hadn’t quite ‘learnt his lesson’. 

As the yellow changeling moved, a shadow moved between his eyes. A shadow somehow darker than the trees standing around them. They left only the slightest of traces on the grass. The yellow changeling was pulled back suddenly, “Come on, we need to leave now!”

Could the powers of Radical Centrist really reach this far? All the of changelings had gone through different experiences of the True Fae which held the title of ‘Radical Centrist’ none of them could recall a time where he had hidden in the shadows in such a way. The one unifying thing they could each remember about him was how garishly they dressed and how garishly they attempted to understand human political concepts.

The yellow changeling’s shock caused him to gain back his intangible form for a second or two before he was pulled back onto the path in a very concrete way. 

The wind moved, it moved and sounded like it was talking. 

The entity that was hunting them: dark, shifting, was a part of the shadows itself. 

“Move, now, move!” 

The group of four broke up. They ran, and they kept running.

They scattered in all directions. 

The air still muttered; the air still spoke.

_Halt your movements. Halt your movements in the name of our society._

They couldn’t escape from a sound, could they? They were lucky that it wasn’t the sound that was after them: sounds so harsh that they could harm the body and soul could be created by the True Fae but their Keeper had sent a physical being after them before they noticed, was another changeling.

The group and to find a way to get away. An image of lightning struck against the dark landscape. The lightning shaping itself around the marking of the trees. It was like a form of living lighting: grey and unnaturally bright. 

The green changeling tripped whilst qui was running and screamed. The red Ogre changeling pulled quem up and snapped at quem. Despite having just me quem, he was already starting to feel a sense of comradery for the Wizened. He couldn’t let him go down, the two of them were a team now. The red changeling decided that he never wanted to see his allies harmed. 

_Come here, before we are forced to collapse together!_

Whiteness drenched the entire landscape for it faded back into the shadows like before. All of them struggled to seeThe clashing lights burning into their sockets. They could only keep running. Run with the air and the light and the sky against them. 

Fighting away the grass and the abandon of the thorns the pushed forward. Quickly blinking: they had to ignore all of their hunches, anything that told them to investigate, fears and disgusts. 

_What are you doing, you know they’ll all fall apart without you? Everything will disappear. Don’t you want to be believed in again?_

To be believed in: that was their charge. They thought they had to be believed in to survive. 

Now they can only believe in themselves. Now they were getting out.

They could run. 

_Radical Centrist believes in you! Come back! Come back!_

The slashing started to cease as the changelings made their way outside of the forest. The restraining vines and thorns were leaving their vision. Some of the darkness remained but not in the form of trees, but concrete blocks painted an off-white colour. 

The lighting kept coming into their eyes as they were growing tired. The blue changeling especially was wishing for a place to sit but knew he would look weak if he were to say that. He decided to keep his mouth shut. 

The yellow changeling was now trailing behind. He had almost been taken by whatever shades that had been summoned the drag them back into Arcadia. He kept his head down to hide his disappointment in himself.

The concrete ground shifted again into a tiled floor. What seemed to be tiles. White tiles that you might find at a convenience store or something of the sort. Flickering lights floated on all sides. Not something mystical like the floating candles, the changelings might have seen in Arcadia, but lights that appeared far more modern. Some sort of L.E.D spotlights, the yellow changeling might have guessed. 

The world started to restrict too. Soon they stood single-file in a narrow corridor - white walls all around them with a single door with a flashing red light reading ‘EXIT’ ahead. 

“Is this it, have we made it?”

They were not finished yet.

A great bolt of sparkling lightning crashed down. A shimmering humanoid face appeared in front of them directly in the storm. To call it ‘humanoid’ would be an understatement, as it fully formed in front of them, it seemed more like an actual human. A man still with silvery outline and features. His hair like a maniac storm and all his clothing was black, “Not another step forward, I’ll send you all back to where you came from!”

The sliver man reached out his hands in an attempt to transmit the jolting lighting bolts from his body. He struck through the crowd, and the blue changeling collapsed, “Damn you!” he screamed, “How dare…you degenerate…”

The green changeling looked at the adversity ahead of qui and had an idea. Qui had always carried with quem in Arcadia, a weapon. Sometimes it was a sword, sometimes a Molotov, sometimes a gun, it was never consistent. Now quem was close to the human world it took the form of a baseball bat. 

Qui was armed, not exactly dangerous but at least armed. The green changeling pushed past his much bulkier Ogre friend and slipped past the stunned yellow Elemental who felt as if he couldn’t move. The green Wizened was fast and nimble, qui could easily strike the lighting entity before it could knock down the rest of the group. The bat felt smooth in the green changeling’s hands, as if was an extension of cuius body. Qui turned it around. Flailing it with a kind of grace. 

The humanoid hunting them grinned, thinking that he had found an easy target. Dragging one of Radical Centrist’s beloved concepts back into Arcadia would have been a victory, two? A delight. The humanoid had already forced the blue Fairest onto the ground, shaking. He thought that this one right in front of him should be easy to take down too.

The yellow changeling wanted to run out and grab him, but he didn’t want to interfere again since that worked out so poorly last time. The Wizened knew what qui was doing, but for the first time in ever so long it was out of cuius own free will. With an almost inhumanly fast strike: the nail-ridden bat pushed through the electronic Fae-creature causing him to fall onto the ground. 

The electric hunter was down but not out. With a small amount of the energy he had left, he created a thin line of electricity like a trap. 

“To the door!” Qui yelled. 

The other changelings followed quem toward that big glowing sign and the modern-looking door. With the hoard, the blue changeling, who was still on the ground, was pushed forward. The combination of the physical changeling barrier and the electric trip-wire caused the four of them to tumble into the doorway. As they flung through the bright red EXIT sign stopped flashing.

There was darkness for a moment. They each found themselves huddled over, looking around at an empty airport lobby, 

“Wait, I don’t have a flight, fuck air travel,” said the green changeling, Ancom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cuius is the genitive form of 'qui' in Latin. Genetive being the complement of the noun so it would be the equivalent of his/hers/theirs using qui/quem as pronouns. 
> 
> End of Chapter Dictornaty:  
> Arcadia: Domain of the True Fae, where humans are made into changelings.  
> Changeling: A human who has been changed by Arcadia and gains some of its power as a result.  
> Durnace: The ordeal humans went through in Arcadia to become changelings.  
> Elemental: A type of seeming, related to environmental aspects, known for their defiance.  
> Fairest: A type of seeming, the pampered, yet restrained, pets of their keepers, known for their haughtiness.  
> Hedge, (the): The place in-between Arcadia and the mortal realm.  
> Kith: A more specific version of a seeming, links more directly to what the changeling was in Arcadia.  
> Keeper: The True Fae that 'kept' the changeling in Arcadia.  
> Ogre: A type of seeming, burly and powerful, known for their protectiveness and inclination towards violence.  
> Seeming: The physical appearance of a changeling that reflects their experiences in Arcadia.  
> True Fae: Immortal inhabitants of Arcadia who take humans into their domain and reforge them into changelings.  
> Wizened: A type of seeming, the 'miracle workers' of Arcadia, known for their watchfulness.


	3. Impolite Introductions

The changelings found themselves on a pile on the ground above a white, flashing, clinical light. The smell was that of cheap bleach and plastic. Warm air stuck to their skin. There was the sound of growling or rumbling below them, in Arcadia that could have been anything from a tiger to a robotic soul-eating machine. They were in the mortal realm now, it was very clearly a plane. 

They each individually sat up and blinked. 

“Why on Earth would I be here? As if I need to spend time in places worse than my own,” the blue changeling scoffed as he got up off the ground. 

“Why would I go flying when such needless travel is costing the environment so much pain!” the green changeling exclaimed, wobbling as qui returned to cuius feet.

“What’s with you guys, you have such a chip on your shoulder!” the yellow changeling was already dusting off the yellow suit he was wearing. Even after all that time in the Hedge, the suit looked largely clean. 

The green changeling, who had suddenly had a name enter cuius head, ‘Ancom’ looked at cuius three new companions with hesitancy. Qui folded cuius arms and huddled underneath cuius fuzzy green hoodie. Ancom didn’t want to be the one to start the conversation. Qui had a life to get back to and was looking forward to campaigning and getting involved with that little political organisation qui was a part of. That and bubble tea, qui deeply missed bubble tea, apparently much more than qui initially realised. There was something kind of magical about a trip to the Overton bubble tea place on those weekend evenings.

Sadly, these strangers seemed like more than a simple barrier.

“The city airport, I don’t think I’ve been in here, nor have I ever needed to,” the red changeling chuckled, causing everyone to look at him. He was tall, very tall, at least 6ft 5” and probably over that. He was far taller than Ancom, which was really all qui needed to know. 

The others also had some strange, non-human traits. The blue changeling appeared almost papery, his eyes seemed to pop with an eerie beauty, but it looked more like he was trying to hide something or to put it more bluntly, a complete faker.

The yellow one was wispy, airy. He would probably phase through the wall or the ground and fall onto the platform. Ancom silently laughed at the idea of him falling through and then being squashed by one of the planes. He looked smug and was probably privileged enough so that it didn’t matter or that he at least deserved it. 

“How did we even get here?” the blue changeling asked.

“Wait… I must have been taken here,” the yellow changeling said.

“You were taken at the airport?” Ancom yelled enough for cuius voice to echo. 

“Not so loud, it’s late.” the red changeling stepped forward to shhh Ancom but this just furthered cuius resolve.

“Are you trying to say there are planes operating at this hour?” the blue changeling marched over and pressed his entire face into one of the large glass windows surrounding all sides of the airport lobby. 

“Guys you think… do you think that I missed my flight?” the yellow changeling in the suit adjusted his thick sunglasses and tugged at the sleeves of his suit.

The blue changeling snapped their ugly face away from the window in an instant. “You say that as if you know how long we’ve been gone. Like you are suggesting we haven’t been gone long at all. Suggesting this was a small foray into some strange land that -”

“Well, the airport doesn’t look any different,” the yellow airy entity shrugged as he interrupted. “How am I supposed to know?”

Ancom looked up around at the section of the airport around quem. Ancom could tell, yeah, this was the Overton airport despite never having been inside of it. Though qui had protested against it increasing its size in the past. Ancom would have preferred if there was no airport here at all. Despite this, qui had never actually been inside, not recently. 

It was just as bleak as Ancom had expected it to be. Probably even bleaker as qui remembered the number of fossil fuels that wrecked the planet were burned here. Ancom realised qui and the rest of them were somewhere in-between the gates and security. The outside was pitch black, qui could see it through the completely clear, empty glass windows which panned the whole rectangle-shaped area. The last time Qui must have been here unironically – as in – not to protest was likely a school trip. Ancom’s memories of the airport lobby were not entirely negative although qui kind of wished they were. Distant though they were, there must have been memories of some kind of fun trip. Through the large airport windows, qui could easily tell that the planes were running late into the night, the booming noises and bright red lights of the runways signalling takeoffs and landings were seemingly there to replace stars.

Ancom’s last memories of stars were hazy now, it almost disgusted quem. There were no stars in Arcadia, and even the stars on Earth had been robbed of their light. The rest of the vicinity wasn’t much to look at: blue patched carpet, many empty plastic seats in rows; stopping a reasonable distance away from the doors that were behind quem. Above the seats was a large board, not particularly modern looking but modern enough so that it displayed each of the flights which were going ahead. Ancom counted, three, four, five. Five flights at this time of night. The times were on the board too: 4:56 AM, 5:12 AM, 5:22 AM, then the board flashed and changed. 

By that assessment, Ancom realised that it was at least around 4:00 AM or a bit earlier or a bit later. The airport was just opening or just about to open but likely the former. Either way, it was isolating and eerie with nothing but the sirens of engine checks and three wacky strangers to keep quem company.

“Anyway, if my flight really is here, then I’ll be going.” the yellow changeling shook his head as if he was still adjusting to his surroundings. “Thanks for everything, uh, what are your names?”

All four of them looked at each other with a dash of confusion and a hint of shock. The name ‘Ancom’ wasn’t even what cuius name was before. ‘Ancom’ wasn’t even sure where the name ‘Ancom’ even came from or why it appeared in qui’s head. It felt comfortable though, and qui had no real idea if qui could show up back at cuius home looking as qui did. Almost bright green and with large scars all across cuius body. It wouldn’t stop qui for fighting for what qui believed in though, that was for sure. Ancom would find some way to make this new identity work. 

“Well, uh, I’m Ancap, if anyone’s curious…” 

The red changeling started giggling, a giggle which turned to a loud chuckle, “Ancap, like what? Anarcho-Capitalist, that’s a stupid name!” 

The supposed Ancap jumped back, he appeared to be offended by the offhand laughter. He looked away and pushed up his glasses again, “Not my fault…”

The red changeling kept laughing despite the obvious damage to Ancap’s self-esteem. His heavy crimson coat, matching the colour of his skin was swaying side to side as he laughed. The cling warmth of the building clearly no issue for him. 

_ Did ‘Ancom’ mean something to?  _ Wherever they had all come out of, it had done a number on their appearances, and Ancom assumed their minds had been victim to the transformation as well. The red changeling, no matter how offensive he was, did have a point. There probably wasn’t a human anywhere who thought ‘Ancom’ would be a good word to use as a name. Then again, Ancom realised qui wasn’t human anyway.  _ Ancom, Like Anarcho-Communist? It could have been the case? It didn’t seem uncomfortable.  _ Ancom suspected most humans wouldn’t have taken being named after a political ideology well, but it suited Ancom just fine.

“Well, Well, if you’re…  _ Anarcho-Capitalist _ ,” there was a rotten hint in his laughter, “You can call me Commie… pffffttt…” the ‘Commie’ continued to laugh, wobbling, almost falling over. 

Ancom didn’t understand what was so funny. Ancap had probably lost his name the same way Ancom did. Did this ‘Commie’ guy have no sympathy? Qui smirked,  _ it would be funny if I kept calling him Commie, just rub it in, piss him off.  _

“Hey, you!” Commie, still chuckling between his teeth, pointed at the blue changeling, “What’s your name exactly? You came back with us too!”

The blue changeling had his arms folded and was propped up against the massive window. His dark blue coat looked almost similar to Commie’s, but his coat was almost black; it was almost hard to see against the window. The outfit also included a white hat, which had been pushed to the back of his head. It was nearly falling off by how long the changeling had been leaning against the window. Something about its design invoked a negative reaction in Ancom, although he couldn’t quite tell why yet. The blue changeling tutted before glaring the ‘Commie’ in the eye

“What’s that for? Do you have a name or not?” ‘Commie’ cocked his head and smiled. 

“It’s Nazi.”

The smile left the red changeling’s face, “Okay, I think I took this joke too far.”

“Excuse you? Do you know how disgusting that is?!” Ancom interjected,  _ Please be joking. Oh, you fucking fool please be joking. _

The blue changeling made a ‘pfft’ noise with their lips, followed by a dismissive hand-wave. 

“Uh, I don’t think you should be saying the word ‘nazi’ that loud in a public space.” Ancap went a put the hand on the offensive changeling’s shoulder only for him to be immediately pushed away violently with an entire elbow. An elbow which hit his face as well. 

“Can you, at least give us something else to call you? It can be stupid if you want, nobody is here to judge.” Commie said, not noticing that Ancom was eyeing for his hypocrisy as he spoke.

“Then call me Identarian,” the blue changeling’s creepy blue bug eyes enlarged. Ancom assumed the petty freak was nervous. 

“Identarian? Wait, what exactly are you identifying with?”

“God, who cares! I don’t care, do I look like someone who cares about my name?” 

Ancap sighed and hit his head with the palm of his hand. “Uh, if that’s all I’ll be leaving now, thank you.” He started to walk away.

He was stopped suddenly by the so-called identity-less Identarian who used his whole body as a barrier.

“Are you mad? Still, thinking you actually have a flight? Like, a plane ticket?”

Commie went and pushed his arm down, almost causing Identarian to fall over. “Wait, do you know how long we’ve been gone?”

Identarian sighed and puffed up the collar around his jacket. “Well, no, I have already mentioned that I don’t. It’s foolish to think it was a mere few hours, though, isn’t it? It’s insulting.” 

“You don’t know. The airport looks no different, it must have only been less than a day, must it not? It felt like some hours for me anyway…” Ancap stared ahead of him at the other two changelings. 

Ancom stood behind Ancap. Not willing to get into the argument over how long any of them had spent in that place of magical horror, so-called Arcadia. Ancom wasn’t keeping track of time back there, qui had no idea how the others had managed to do so.

“Hours? Hours! God, you prick. I’ve been gone for years, decades! Too long to count! Stop messing, it was more than a few hours.” 

Identarian was a decent amount shorter than Ancap, but it was still enough for him to look intimidating. Ancom saw Ancap sweat and squint at the blue-coloured changeling staring him right in the eye. 

“I thought it was a few months myself,” Commie said, carelessly.

“A few months!” Identarian screamed. “Not you too!” 

“Oooh, the guy who called himself a Nazi is pissed off at me? Whatever will I do!” 

Identarian growled but still had his attention focused on Ancap. It was clear that Identarian had no way in hell of ever trying to fight or intimidate ‘Commie’ who was borderline inhumanly tall and generally extremely large. This so-called Identarian guy was obviously the sort that would pick on the underdog when he could. Identarian’s gaze intensified. He held out his hand and grasped his shirt. Ancap looked, kind of helpless. 

This annoyed Ancom, thoroughly and realising qui still had the bat in hand, qui had an idea.

“Hey, get the heck off of him!” Ancom rushed forward, armed with the bat in cuius hand. Ancom lifted it directly aiming at Identarian’s hand. 

Ancom fell. Identarian let go of Ancap. Ancap walked back but managed not to trip over. Ancom looked up from the floor and saw Identarian hand clearly damaged, bent back from the hit of the bat, but not bleeding. Identarian screeched. 

Ancom lifted themselves off of the floor just in time for a quick ‘Ha’ at the dark-robed villain.

Luckily Ancom wasn’t too busy laughing for quem not to notice Ancap fighting off tears in the background. 

“Guys can we just… not fight about how long we’ve been away maybe? It doesn't matter how long we’ve been away really, all that matters is that we’re here now, right?” Ancap said. 

_ Was that genuine emotion, or was he just sad about missing his flight?  _ Ancom was concerned but even more, caught off by him suggesting that it ‘didn’t matter’. It definitely meant something to the rest of them. How long they had been away, how long they had been away from their family and their lives? It was deeply offensive to suggest that it didn’t matter!

“Are you saying that their lives don’t matter too, is that what you’re saying!” 

“How dare you suggest that it doesn't matter, pathetic! Is it because nobody loves you?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘it doesn't matter’ don’t be so silly Anarcho-Capitalist.”

Just before the entire lobby would devolve into arguing, a strange smell, one like an entire greenhouse wafted through the air. 

A man with deep dark brown, inky looking hair a pair of noticeably colourful goggles stepped out of a shadow in the corner of the room. “Excuse me. Could you come with me, all of you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter Dictionary:  
> Arcadia: Domain of the True Fae, where humans are made into changelings.  
> Changeling: A human who has been changed by Arcadia and gains some of its power as a result.


	4. A Short Walk Away from Oblivion

Minarchist

_ Around thirty minutes ago…  _

Minarchist was growing more uncomfortable, restless. He hit the rim of the steering wheel, tapping it incessantly.  _ Hedge Openings. Hedge Openings _ . There were a lot of them in the city, and if the Hedge was weakening, then something else may have been coming out the Hedge in turn. It could be other changelings, it could be something much more dangerous. The string of kidnappings had already implied that the True Fae might have been walking around with their Mask again in the town of Overton. They had likely been spying on or planning to take mortals. 

Minarchist, although highly fatigued by this point, still had a sense of hope. A weaker Hedge meant more of a chance for other changelings to escape, in turn. Not only was Minarchist glad that more changelings could escape their confinement but allowed him to hope that the new recruits could balance out the courts and diminish Posadist’s power over it. Posadist seemed to be playing games with the Freehold in a way that Minarchist, and of the other changelings aware of his messing, deeply uneasy.

Even if Minarchist found himself unable to sleep, he was able to take a relaxing ride through the city at night. He could watch how the sun slowly started to rise over the silvery buildings in Overton or how the shadows would hide the buildings into an eerie silhouette. Overton was a largely boring town. An industrialised, transient place. It wasn’t somewhere that you were supposed to stay for long, and most didn’t. The airport overshadowed much of the town, followed by the cheap hotels and large supermarkets. There wasn’t space for a park or much of anything natural at all. In fact, Minarchist figured that one of the greenest places in the whole of Overton were some of the rooms the Spring Court kept: indoors.

Yet, the sun passing over all of the silver and white constructs was soothing to Minarchist. The vague hints of red were in sharp contrast to the otherwise drab colours of the town. If it was earlier in the night then if Minarchist squinted, he could see stars above all the high rise buildings. Unless he imagined them because he wanted to see them. Minarchist was starting to suspect that he might have been. 

In the distance, Minarchist saw the whole of Overton airport starting to light up. One other thing about night-time in Overton is that it was far quieter. Most of the day was hounded by noisy planes flying over. It was hard to hear yourself think if you were in the wrong place.

The airport at dawn, however, was a place that was likely to have some strong Hedge openings. The other possible location would be the abandoned mall at the very bottom of the downtown area. Then again, anything that would come bursting out of the abandoned mall would likely be unfriendly. Luckily, he had been informed that the Autumn Court had set up enough traps in order at least slow down anything supernatural that could bust through those tired doors. The Spring Court, and most of all Minarchist himself, was more focused on securing safe passage for the other changelings that would almost wander out of Arcadia and find themselves back in the weird city of Overton.

Minarchist paid the excessive fee for the utter privilege to park the Freehold’s family-size motor vehicle in the oh-so-wonderful airport car park. Driving through the ghostly grey place, Minarchist could only wonder what this worn-out place would be like if the government hadn’t kept pouring money into it. Probably a lot better. Heck, the whole town would probably be better.  _ Somewhere had to be a shitty airport hub and somewhere had to be the prime target of a True Fae who thought they were being metamodernist. _

Minarchist wanted to avoid parking on the bottom floor as much as possible. Those grim spiralling staircases you’d have to climb in order to reach the top (that and it was likely that the tiny lift was left broken). Minarchist had recalled the story that Homonationalist had told him about getting stuck in the left for what felt like several hours. How he was sure that he was slowly going mad in there - the threat of being dragged into Arcadia looming. Homonationalist then developed a phobia of lifts. As much as he tried to deny it. 

If he could, Minarchist would always try to get a spot at the top of the car park. At the top, there wasn’t any space to worry about freakish lifts or potential Hedge openings through the doors: car parks, especially rather empty ones. Minarchist wasn’t looking to enter the Hedge himself but rather look for what or who was coming out of it. 

As he reached the top of the car park, he sensed he was getting close. The entrance was through a set of large white double doors, which were seemingly out of place in the large grey concrete maze of unkempt drabness. They were modern looking with their clear glass looking doorway that you could peer through seeing an also largely white flooring space.

The said doorway opened automatically for Minarchist where he was welcomed by a large amount of flashing signs, posters but not many people waiting around as he expected. Then Minarchist remembered that nobody really stayed up as late as he did. Not even in the spring and summer months when it wasn’t cripplingly cold outside.

The lights inside the airport itself were blaring. None of the shops inside of it were open, yet they still kept all the lights on the signs as if they were. There would probably be some back in the Overton Freehold who would babble about how this was a ‘big waste of electricity’, but Minarchist didn’t care about that. It was more the sheer brightness of the building complex that was annoying Minarchist. Strange for a Spring Court member, but more typical for a Darkling this, the large amount of needless bright lights bothered him. 

Minarchist didn’t have a ticket, and he wouldn’t be the one to pay out of pocket just try and find the new lost changelings. Minarchist allowed himself to be generous with his time, he wouldn’t be so high up in the Spring Court if he wasn’t, but he was not generous with his money. That was where he drew the line.

Luckily, the airport security in Overton, as was much of the administration in the entire town was lackadaisical. You didn’t need a ticket to pass through security, the only thing he had was the phone in his pocket, and they wouldn’t usually ask them to take off his goggles. Uncomfortable even if it didn’t have a monetary cost. Minarchist honestly felt naked without his goggles at the top of his head. A token he had made himself in fact, it helped him see in the dark for a few hours if he really needed it. Save for the weird headache that he’d get afterwards.

With minimal suspicion, he walked towards the security gate with no bags to speak of. Then again, he and other members of the Overton Freehold had probably come here too to investigate with no clear luggage. The staff here were paid to do their jobs, not judge the people coming through the gates. As he approached the security desk, he looked over his shoulder. Even at such a busy airport for this country, it was relatively silent tonight. Too much focusing and Minarchist could hear his own footsteps in the empty complex.

He threw his phone into the plastic tray and moved it along the conveyer belt sighing. He pushed it forward and let it go through the conveyer belt and into the scanner. The airport scanners would never pick up changeling fae magic, no matter the tiny twinge of paranoia whenever any of his possessions went through it. The woman with the cold glance in her blue uniform, peering at the images from her tiny chair didn’t make that feeling go away any quicker. 

The metal detector, on the contrary, made Minarchist feel strangely safe. Cold iron was still dangerous to any creature imbued with Arcadian magic, from the near-immortal True Fae to the once human changelings – cold iron was one of their greatest banes. Nobody truly knew the story behind it, Minarchist had heard plenty of stories but mostly didn’t care. It was just oddly satisfying to know there would always be a place where cold iron was forbidden. Even if it went against people’s general freedom to carry iron and even if cold iron in the modern era was something in and of itself rare.

Once he was past the security, he shouldn’t have to need to look around for long. Then again, the Hedge openings in this airport could have easily been anywhere. A so-called non-place was so large that a ridiculous amount of hedge openings could be present here at once. 

It wasn’t exactly the Spring Court’s jurisdiction to go and hunt for things that might have come out of the Hedge. That was the Autumn Court’s magic. Or rather, it would be if the Autumn Court’s leadership wasn’t shared between an incompetent buffoon and one of Minarchist’s friends who didn’t seem to care what the courts did what. Posadist was too sucked into whatever creepy nonsense he was planning, and nobody really saw the Winter Court, so it wasn’t like anybody was going to stop Minarchist from doing this. It’s not like he trusted either of the Autumn Courtiers to welcome any new changelings that had just stumbled back onto Earth. The Autumn Court had the abandoned mall and every other creepy place in Overton to patrol, that was enough for them. The night was the jurisdiction for Darklings though, flowers growing in their hair or not.

The airport lobby: in between the gates, security and that weirdly spacious duty-free shop the stocked overpriced sweets, defying its own purpose. The flooring was a mix between the plain white tiles from before and a soft plush blue carpet that lined where the seating areas were. If it were an earlier time of day, then you would clearly be able to see some of the planes taking off and landing from the clear presence of the far-too-close runways outside. In the night there was more the presence of floating lights and the occasional sound of rushing engines going into the sky. 

There mostly L.E.D lighting in this place wasn’t enough to really provide a steady source of bright light. If Minarchist wasn’t so used to coming to this place over and over again, it would probably give him eye strain.

Small groups of humans muttered quietly to themselves while sitting on the seats by the airport windows. A large black screen was just out of Minarchist’s view. Likely one of the many screens that listed the flight and gate numbers themselves. There was a small amount of blue text that Minarchist couldn’t make out. 

Surely enough, eventually, a chime went off, “Passengers on flight 4409 to New York must report to gate a13 as the gate is due to shut in fifteen minutes.”

A few of the chattering humans got up from their chairs. One of them pushed past the slightly fatigued Minarchist. He blinked from the slight surprise but kept going, undeterred.

As he walked further, he did notice something strange out of the corner of his eye. He saw what could have been other changelings, squabbling? Changelings for sure that he didn’t recognise. His hunch was correct, if something was pulled into the Hedge soon, then so would something be coming out of it soon. It looked as if he didn’t have to wait long, what he had been looking for was already here.

He hastily stepped into the most shadowed area of the lobby, where those ghastly L.E.D lights didn’t touch. He used his seeming’s blessing to sink into the shadows, undetectable. It wasn’t as if Minarchist enjoyed hiding like this, but at the same time, it was incredibly useful, especially if he was out at night as often as he was. The shadow was provided by the said large board that he had seen earlier. It was large enough to block some of the lighting fixtures even at the very top were blocked off. 

The group hadn’t spotted Minarchist, so stepping into the shadows meant it so that they wouldn’t spot him unless he allowed it. With a sense of optimism, Minarchist was under the assumption that these were new changelings that simply needed some kind of induction into the Freehold. Still, there was always the chance that these were conspiring privateers or loyalists from other Freeholds or travellers who were simply looking to throw changelings back into Arcadia for a reward. Despite the optimism that he wanted to hold onto, he had to lend himself to a bit of caution, least the very worse of the magical world seeps through.

_ “Are you saying that their lives don’t matter too, is that what you’re saying!”  _

_ “How dare you suggest that it doesn’t matter, pathetic! Is it because nobody loves you?”  _

_ “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘it doesn’t matter’ don’t be so silly Anarcho-Capitalist.” _

As Minarchist stood around listening, yep, these definitely sounded like new changelings. Though this much squabbling wasn’t common when one escaped Arcadia with those who had aided you. It made Minarchist kind of uncomfortable seeing them so…

_ Wait, that name ‘Anarcho-Capitalist’ could it be, had they done it? Had they escaped for sure? _

Minarchist couldn’t wait any longer. He had to speak to them. He slipped out of the shadows, making no attempt to hide and gave them a demand. “Excuse me. Could you come with me, all of you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter Dictionary:  
> Arcadia: Domain of the True Fae, where humans are made into changelings.  
> Autumn Court (the): One of the four seasonal courts: bound to fear and bargaining.  
> Changeling: A human who has been changed by Arcadia and gains some of its power as a result.  
> Darkling: A type of seeming, those who were left to dwell in the dark worlds in Arcadia  
> Hedge, (the): The place in-between Arcadia and the mortal realm.  
> Mask: The face that mortals, non-magical humans see when looking at Changelings when they return to Earth and the True Fae when they lurk around on Earth  
> Seeming: The physical appearance of a changeling that reflects their experiences in Arcadia.  
> Spring Court (the): One of the four seasonal courts: bound to desire and denial.  
> Token: An object imbued with Arcadian Magic, can be made several ways, either through the Hedge or through oaths. 
> 
> As of the time being, I'm getting a little burnt-out/jaded on this fic specifically? The updates coming to it would likely be slower, just hang on. I am thinking of other fic ideas for Centricide though, so something else coming soon possibly?


End file.
